A text from an unknown number would light up Mackenzie Brooks' phone, indicating an image attachment. Upon being opened, a picture of her cabin would appear on screen, up close and personal, with the text below:

Someone was looking for you.
Red hair.
Thigh tattoo.
I don’t like her.
She touched me.
I don’t like being touched.
I suggest we dispose of her. Dempsey

Dempsey’s finger hovered over the send button for a moment as she recalled her meeting with the red headed woman looking for Mackenzie. She had demanded information on the woman and called herself a friend. Dempsey wasn’t aware of Tanvir’s affiliation but Dempsey hadn’t trusted herself to give information away about her leader. The curly haired woman refused to be the middle man, if Tanvir was a friend of Mackenzies and had business with her then so be it, she wasn’t going to be someone’s pawn. Dempsey read over the message for the fifth time before hitting send. She needed another shower to wash away the memories of Red’s hand on her arm.

sʞooɹq ǝızuǝʞɔɐW
Do you know none of them at all? Why the hell are you here anyway?

sʞooɹq ǝızuǝʞɔɐW
Wait, no, that can wait.

sʞooɹq ǝızuǝʞɔɐW
The blonde is driving me fcking insane just by looks alone. What is she? A cheerleader? Seriously, I think that face would look a lot better with a broken nose, preferably via contact with the bar. But there's definitely something going on between her and...don't you think that guy looks like the guy out of Star Wars? I've literally only seen one movie in the last god-only-knows how many years and he looks like the guy out of it. What's his name? The one with the attitude and the beeping ball? But anyway. Any of them. Actually any of them. Because obviously the lay low, start again refresh of Tanvir Buckley I was planning on is not going to happen now you're here IN A WEREWOLF BAR WTAF?!

Mortals can melt into the crowd, lose themselves, keep their distance. But for the likes of him, of them, well, could they ever be that lucky? For how long can you hide with an eternity ahead of you? When you’ve used up every dark corner and have nowhere else to go?

When Jack had left, when he’d finally gone and closed the door of the cabin behind him, he knew her goodbye would be the last. Too many broken moments. Too much pain. Whatever state she was now in, all this time later, he had every faith that the emotional scars still lingered from all he’d put her through. But did that mean she didn’t still care? As he’d sat there every night, thinking of her. As he’d time and time again been told to ’give it a fcking rest already!’ by Tanvir as he’d once again found means to bring Mackenzie Brooks into conversation. They’d been something else, he’d tell her. Nothing quite like them had ever existed, and it never would again.

But now his journey was over, his fight for a freedom from the very thing that had clouded their relationship. Was he ‘fixed’? No. But he was in control. That wickedness, the evil that lived within him, he’d found the balance. He was Jack Horton and the monster, perfectly knotted together.

But it was too late now. He knew better. And as he sat at the desk in the suite of The London, NYC, hunched over the same damn piece of paper for hour six or seven, he couldn’t find a single word to write. He’d had such wonderful intentions. A ‘be safe’ here. An ‘it’s all over’ there. A note to let her know that what had taken him away, what had haunted them for years, was finally through. And a wish that she find happiness from whatever wreckage he’d left her in. Yes nothing flowed from the branded pen in his hand. Nothing but her name, Mackenzie, in his cursive script.

Finally, some hours later as the sun rose, spreading its light across him through the wide wall of windows, he sealed the envelope and pulled on his shoes to find the nearest post box.

"Ah.. there is no need to 'try harder'." It is nonchalant, there is no pressure to say his name correctly. He does not expect someone to speak a language they do not know. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Mackenzie. I should probably take my leave and let you return to your business. Thank you for your time, for entertaining my strange sense of humour."

Not me help you, you help me.Wait.I like tutus. I love the ballet.Are you at the ballet?Do our woods have ballet?Wait. I NEED YOUR HELP!I may or may not have agreed to something.Marriage.Quinn.Sol.UH. Why do you have tutus>

Jay stares at the woman he doesn't know spouting profanities at him. It all seems rather rude. ****ing a citrine half smile, he reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving a frayed handkerchief and dabbing at an invisible spot at the corner of his lips.

Staring at her some more, just enough to be uncomfortable, he then replies with a single, accented word.

Turquoise irides dance upon the 'young' woman's face as she rants. She appears a bit put off and so he offers another suggestion. "It means 'Butcher', though, I am not sure you'd like to refer to me as that." Still, he isn't willing to give up his real name to a relative stranger. "Would V be easier, Mack?" His nose wrinkles. He prefers to use given names for women. It just seems more.. proper. Call him old fashioned.

She amuses him. In a positive way, of course. "It is a pleasure, Mackenzie." A firm shake; she's strong for someone so petite and truth be told, he is shocked. He again gives his name, this time slowly. Russian is difficult. "Mees-neek."

Elis took the time to visit Scotland, to hunt down one of the multiple lockups that housed his belongings for years gone by. Trinkets, investments and the occasional keepsake from the many lives he'd led. Dundee - cold, wet and nasty. Yet he persisted, slipping down a narrow alley way between houses that dare to defy gravity, until he found the particular dwelling he required.

A few days more, and back in the slightly better climate of London, he packaged the bottle he'd plucked from a dusty collection, an sent it by courier to Mackenzie.

Upon the surface of the bottle, handwritten, noted: 1506 - the Guild of Barber Surgeons - James IV of Scotland.

The giant turns slowly, quite aware of the woman's presence. Who couldn't see that lovely gold lame [read la-mey] suit she was wearing, reminiscent of Elvis. A thick brow thrust upwards at her question. "Nein, Fraulein, I've never had the pleasure." Extending a large hand, he introduces himself. Sort of. "I'm known as Myasnik, very nice to make your acquaintance."

"Figures," Nicole murmured with a laugh. This doesn't surprise her one bit. Nothing does anymore. Colors have faded from Nicole's life through the years. Even the women before her appeared like a newspaper, black and white.
Nicole's feet lingered as her lips quivered. There were words on her tongue anticipating speech. However, like most things, she couldn't remember. "Sorry for wasting your time," Nicole sighed, slinking away towards nothing.

Camille startles at the angry snip, turning fast on her heel with fists up defensively to face a similarly tiny terror. Such accusations. So angry. So testy. "Yeah?! So?? You can wax right the f-ck off, McDuck." Her fists go down and she tousles her hair with raking fingers. "He's pretty, isn't he? Now I understand the whole Indiana Jones thing!"

She could play hard to get all she wanted. Mackenzie was actively torturing Jameson f*cking Orlav, and he knew the reason. It was for him. Mackenzie couldn't deny that. It put her and her Sanctuary at risk, just like she had proclaimed she would never do. Her actions told a story as plain as day.

Feeling suddenly quite charitable, he obliged Mackenzie's request. Switching his phone to camera mode, he bent down next to his doomed, sobbing companion.

"Give me a scream, pretty girl."

Mick
Tell me where you are.
[IMG Rec'd]

The image was a closeup of an attractive young woman with rivers of mascara running down her pink, sobbing face, Victor's fingers clearly snatching her head back by her hair.

Lucius has a hard time getting up but not to rub and flex his jaw. F@ck that hurt!
"Not in the face...." He groan then felt a kiss on his cheek. That was strange but okay.. I'll take it. Checks to make sure all teeth are still there. Yes! Nothing broken then.
"Next time include dinner!" He said as an after thought.

Oi. Go be chill and set his f-cking loft on fire. That usually f-cking gets their attention. Or kick down his door. Basic f-ckig sh-t like that always works. For real. Why the hell would you get married?